Saturday, March 4, 2023

Stac Dhomhnaill Chaim

The Mangarstadh cliffs looked particularly stunning in the early morning sunshine as I climbed up from the golden sands of Traigh Mhangarstadh, split by the gently flowing water of Allt Loch a' Ghlomaich.

From the beach a gradual ascent led to the headland of Rubha Thisgeis, where the undulating cliff top was followed farther north to a point opposite Stac Dhomhnaill Chaim: the precarious stack-top fort of Domnhnaill Chaim Macaulay, one-eyed Donald Macaulay.

Donald was chief of the Macaulays of Uig in the early 1600s. He died around 1640, but still lives on in Uig history and legend. (Donald was the grandson of John Roy Macaulay, whose tale was told in Chapter 17 of Skye & Tiree to the Outer Isles.) In his youth, Donald joined some of the Macleods of Lewis working as mercenaries in Ireland, fighting for the O'Neill earl of Tyrone. On his return to Lewis, Donald carried on with the only career he knew. Fighting. Some of his foes were the 'Fife Adventurers', sent to Lewis by James VI. The Adventurers came in 1599, bringing over 500 troops to tame the natives. Aside from fighting off the invaders, Donald had a long-running feud with the Morrisons of Lewis. During one incident, Donald set out to kill a band of Morrisons who were using the Broch of Carloway as a base. After dispatching the sentry, and blocking the one doorway, Donald scaled the wall of the forty-foot-high broch.

So, just how do you climb a broch? It was something out of Mission Impossible. Donald used knives, one in each hand, that he inserted in gaps in the stonework to inch his way to the top. Once there, he heaved burning bales of heather into the fort. The Morrisons, trapped inside, were smothered. One incident in Donald's conflicts gave him his nickname. It occurred during a struggle with the blacksmith of Cnip, the Gobha Bàn. The fair-haired smith wielded a red-hot poker and blinded Donald in one eye. (Lesson learned: if your opponent has a red-hot poker, run away.) I do not know who won the fight. Did Donald manage to wrest away the hot poker or not? And if so, what did he do with it? The fate of Edward II comes to mind.

Donald Cam participated in an attack on Stornoway Castle in 1607, which made him, even more, an enemy of the state. As such, he lived like Osama Bin Laden, changing his location from one remote spot to another, always on the run. One of his hideouts was a roundhouse, Dùn Camus na Clibhe—also called Valtos Castle, high above the beach of Traigh na Clibhe. Another of his hidey-holes was an island-fort in Loch Bharabhat, reached by a 100-foot-long causeway. Donald may also have spent time at a remote shieling on the east shore of Loch Seaforth, where you will find the ruins of Airigh Dhomhnuill Chaim at the foot of Sidhean an Airgid, the hill of wealth.

Now that you know something of Donald Cam, you'll understand why I'd come to the cliffs of Mangarstadh to see Stac Dhomhnaill Chaim, One-Eyed Donald's most fantastic hiding place. The nearest I could get was a dramatic precipice looking across to the narrow stack, which was barely 100 feet wide and jutted 500 feet into the sea. There had been a fort on the stack long before the days of Donald Cam. It had been reached by a narrow land bridge, one that has since crumbled away, leaving an airy, sixty-foot gap. Although you can't get there without climbing gear, the fortifications can be seen from the mainland. They consist of a D-shaped wall enclosing an area forty by twenty feet in size. And at its centre stand the walls of a ruined cottage that Donald occasionally called home. The description of the fort in Donald MacIver's Place Names of Lewis and Harris says:

This is the rock where this warlike hero was hiding after dealing severely with his betrayers. His daughter, Anna, brought him food at night.

It is also mentioned by Bill Lawson in Lewis: The West Coast:

Domhnall Cam is the folk hero of the MacAulays in Uig, and having allied himself to the old MacLeod chiefs against the Scottish king and the MacKenzies, he was being pursued even more than usual. So he fortified the stack, where he was attended by his daughter Anna, who brought provisions and water up the cliff-face. She is said to have been so sure-footed that she could climb the stack with a pail of  milk in each hand.

Even though I'd read the stack was inaccessible, I was hoping to find a way across. But those hopes vanished the moment I stood at the edge of the cliff. Not even a sure-footed, dedicated daughter, like the fearless Anna trying to help her father, could climb the stack these days. You would need ropes and a lot of courage. (With a pail of milk in each hand you'd need a helicopter.) I don't know how Donald Cam met his end—maybe he fell off the stack—but some sources say he died at the ripe old age of eighty and is buried at Balnacille, the sanctuary on whose threshold his grandfather, John Roy Macaulay, killed the Macleods of Pabbay.

Note: The above story is an excerpt from the upcoming Second Edition of Skye & Tiree to the Outer IslesFor a complete account of Donald Cam Macauley see Chapter 4 of Michael Robson's Someone Else's Story (Acair Books, 2018).

Tuesday, November 22, 2022

Eilean Righ - The King's Isle

I have an article in the current Scottish Islands Explorer Magazine about Eilean Righ, the King's Isle of Loch Craignish. It was once part of a ritual landscape; just five miles away stands the hill of Dunadd, where the early kings of Dalriada were inaugurated; and two miles to the east is Kilmartin Glen, with its vast number of neolithic and bronze age sites. And then there's Ormaig, a half mile from Eilean Righ. Ormaig has some of the best examples of rock-art in the country. Cups, rings, and rosettes carved in stone for still unknown reasons.

There were two forts on Eilean Righ, so it was well defended. Add to that its easy access to the sea and sheltered anchorage, it is possible Eilean Righ was used by the early kings as an island residence. There was also a royal connection in the 1930s, when the island was owned by Sir Reginald Fleming Johnston, who was tutor to the young Dragon Emperor Puyi from 1919 to 1924.

See the following link to get a copy of the magazine:

The south end of Eilean Righ - Eilean Macaskin in the distance

Friday, September 30, 2022

Hairteabhaigh of South Uist

I have an article in the latest issue of Scottish Islands Explorer about a walk to Hairteabhaigh, a remote ghost village on a far corner of South Uist. The journey was a six-mile loop walk from South Glendale that also passed the site of the schoolhouse of Glaic Ruairidh, immortalized in the poetry of Dòmhnall Aonghais Bhàin

See the following link to get a copy of the magazine:

Monday, September 5, 2022

Bernera Bridge - Old and New

Last month I had an extraordinary opportunity to spend a day on Loch Rog to set foot on four of its now uninhabited isles. The boatman picked me up at Bosta beach, at the north tip of Great Bernera—the 'Best Beach' as it's called by the locals. To get to Bosta I had to cross the Bernera Bridge, which I'd last traversed in 2019. As I approached the bridge things looked quite different. The road suddenly curved right and, instead of leading to the 100-foot-long pre-stressed concrete bridge of 1953, took me across a brand new, steel-girder bridge, which was opened in December of 2021.

Once over the bridge, I climbed to the standing stones of Callanaish VI to take a photo of the old and new bridges. Standing side by side above the swift-flowing waters of Struth Earshader, the bridges are the reason Great Bernera is still a vibrant, living island.

Friday, July 22, 2022


I was fortunate to have been able to visit one of my favourite islands, Scarp, twice this year. It is a hard island to get to, and most visitors come from passing sailboats, It was a bit busier in the past, for from 1966 to 1971, the island was home to the most remote hostel in Scotland - which was located left of centre in the following photo. I have an article about the hostel in the latest issue of Scottish Islands Explorer Magazine. You can find the print and digital editions at the following link:

PS: It's been a while since I posted. The main reason is that my PC crashed, another is that after managing to avoid Covid for over two years, I caught it during my trip to Scotland last month. Based on when my symptoms started, I believe caught it on the train ride from Oban to Glasgow (no one was wearing a mask). Fortunately, that was at the end of the trip. My advice is to mask up when travelling on all public transport.

Thursday, June 23, 2022

Hallaig - Raasay

It was back in 1998 that I first climbed Dun Cann, the summit of Raasay. Looking south from the summit, I saw the ruins of a large village set on a grassy ledge, 300 feet above the sea. A look at the map told me it was Hallaig, but I knew nothing of its history at the time. It would take a few years, but I would eventually learn about the Raasay Bard Sorley Maclean, and his best-known poem, Hallaig.

The village of forty houses was cleared of its people by George Rainy in 1854. Sorley MacLean’s poem evokes the author’s memories of this place where some of his family had lived; a place once full of life, but dead for a hundred years when the poem was published. But it is not truly dead. Hallaig invokes the truth that the spirits of the people remain in the landscape and wildlife: in the birch, the rowan, the hazel, and the red deer sprinting across the slopes of Cnoc an Rà.

Na h-igheanan nan coille bheithe / The girls a wood of birch trees
Direch an druim, crom an ceann / Standing tall with their heads bowed

In the following photo, taken from the summit of Dun Caan, the green plateau of Hallaig can be seen just left of centre.

Also to be seen from the top of Dun Caan were the ruins of Screapadal, three miles to the north—the subject of another poem by Sorley Maclean: Screapadal. There you will find the ruins of forty homes split between the townships of North and South Screapadal, separated by the peaty, cascading waters of An Leth-allt—another village cleared by Rainy. 

Dh’fhag Rèanaidh Sgreapadal gun daoine, / Rainy left Screapadal without people,
gun taighean, gun chrodh ach caoraich, / with no houses or cattle, only sheep,
ach dh’fhàg e Sgreapadal bòidheach; / but he left Screapadal beautiful;
ra linn cha b’ urrainn dha a chaochladh. / in his time he could do nothing else.

Hallaig and Screapadal are places that must be seen, and there is no excuse not to, as both are easy, four-mile round trip hikes. That said, I cheated and got within less than a mile of Hallaig by boat. It was a couple of weeks ago, and the ship Hjalmar Bjorge had to shelter from a southerly gale. The bay below Hallaig, nestled by the hook-headland of Rudha na’ Leac, was the perfect spot. 

Once ashore, a steep climb of 300 feet led to the Hallaig footpath, where we encountered the Hallaig Memorial Cairn, with brass plaques inscribed with the poem in Gaelic and English.

The path quickly dropped down through woodland to cross the Hallaig stream, then climbed to a sloping, 250,000 square-foot enclosure: Hallaig’s most visible feature from a distance.

’s tha mo ghaol aig Allt Hallaig / And my love is a birch forever
’na craoibh bheithe, ’s bha i riamh / By Hallaig Stream, at her tryst

Above the enclosure lay the ruins of eighty structures, some still standing; most just the low, grass-grown foundations of circular and rectangular dwellings. Most of the houses lay on a fairly level, grassy plateau, overlooked by the mantled summit of Dun Caan.

Before returning to the ship I made my way to the high, north end of the village. It was a magnificent spot and the location of the most intact of the many ruins. I realized it was a shame I'd not taken the time to hike here in the past, and next time I am on Raasay I will make the walk to Screapadale via Raasay Wood.

Tha iad fhathast ann a Hallaig / They are still in Hallaig
Clann Ghill-Eain ’s Clann MhicLeòid / All the MacLeans and MacLeods
na bh’ ann ri linn Mhic Ghille Chaluim: / Who were there in the time of Mac Gille Chaluim:
chunnacas na mairbh beò. / The dead have been seen alive.

Sunday, May 29, 2022

The Adventures of Hjalmar Bjorge - Season 5, Episode 5

 The Continuing Adventures of Hjalmar Bjorge
Season 5 - Episode 5 - Mingulay to Mull
Exploring the Isles of the West Cruise    April 18-May 2, 2022

From Mingulay we motored across the Sea of the Hebrides to Heisker Rock, where we were delighted by the sight of two minke whales. Peter Hill, author of Stargazing: Memoirs of a Young Lightkeeper, ends his book with a description of his last posting, which was on Hyskeir in 1973. Upon arriving via helicopter, he was greeted by the keepers, along with three other residents of his new posting.

And as we walked across the black lava towards the tallest lighthouse tower I had ever seen, three goats emerged out of the fine sea mist.

There have been no men (or goats) on Hyskeir since it was automated in 1997. (For more on Hyskeir see these posts: The sea was mirror calm as we left Hyskeir and motored over to the west side of beautiful Canna, where we were planning to spend the night. The western cliffs of Canna were teeming with seabirds. 

Just as we rounded the corner to enter the harbour the Calmac ferry Lochnevis rocketed out of the harbour on its way back to Mallaig.

Once ashore I led the group to Rhu Church, also known as the Rocket Church due to its Irish Round tower belfry. It is always a delight to see it, especially on a bright spring afternoon with only wispy clouds floating overhead.

We then headed into the woodlands past John Campbell's grave to reach the Celtic Cross and the burial ground. Campbell's elegant tombstone reads:

Ian Latharna Caimbeul
1.10.1906    25.4.1996
Fear Chanaidh

Campbell died in Italy in 1996, and was buried there. But his body was returned to Canna in 2006. For the story of Campbell's life see The Man Who Gave Away His Island, by Ray Perman.

Our next stop was the bridge to Sanday, where some of us climbed to the high ground overlooking Sanday village. Just to the right of centre in the next photo you can see the Sanday Schoolhouse. The school dates to 1878, and is the subject of Kate Riley's book Canna School Days

Just before returning to the ship a detour was made to Canna Prison. It is a mini-castle atop a dramatic stack that rises 80 feet above the western shoreline. The structure looks very precarious. I'd climbed it in my younger days, but not wanting to be responsible for the whole thing to come tumbling down, we settled for the view from below.

A fanciful watercolur of the prison was done by Richard Doyle in the 1870s. He titled it 'The Witches' Home'. No witches were soaring about, just curious gulls and kittiwakes.

When we returned to Hjalmar Bjorge we discovered Charlie had acquired prawns from a local fisherman. They made a delicious starter to the evening meal.

Overnight the weather drastically changed for the worse. We needed a place to shelter for the night, so Charlie took us over to the northeast corner of Ardnamurchan, where we anchored in Kentra Bay. In the morning we spent a couple hours ashore exploring the Singing Sands of Kentra. Similar to the Signing Sands of Eigg and Islay, if you scrape your shoes across the sands they make an odd, squeaking sound. Writing in 1844, the geologist Hugh Miller thought highly of the sound:

I walked over it, striking it obliquely at each step, and with every blow the shrill note was repeated. My companions joined me; and we performed a concert, in which, if we could boast of but little variety in the tones produced, we might at least challenge all Europe for an instrument of the kind which produced them.

A few of us made a stunning woodland walk above the sands, which starts with a warning sign about unexploded munitions in the sands. (Now they tell us!)

Fortunately, no one was blown up. (That would not have looked good on my Island Guider CV.) And so from Kentra we made our way to the Cairns of Coll, a spot known for whales. We did not see any whales, but we did see something fantastic - something in my thirty-plus years of Hebridean sailing I'd never seen. For over an hour, a large group of bottlenose dolphins bow surfed, and raced alongside the ship. There must have been nearly three dozen of them, gleefully playing with us, and you could tell they were happy to make us smile.

We ended the day on the pontoons of Tobermory Harbour. As we arrived I saw the sailing yacht Zuza tied up. She is a ship of memories for me. Many years ago I'd sailed on her around the Inner Hebrides and the Orkneys with Skipper Tim Wear at the helm. 

After a wander around the village we spent the night on the pontoons, then got an early start back to Oban in the morning.

By noon the next day, we were in Oban to say our goodbyes. It had been an exemplary trip, and we'd been blessed with (mostly) magnificent weather. I want to thank Charlie, Mel, and Steve for being a great crew, and Peter, Liz, Anne, Nigel, Clare, Wolfgang, and Debbie for being such great travelling companions. I hope to sail with you all again, someday.